


Ties of Blood and Water

by ThisIsMyTruthTellMeYours



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22425637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsMyTruthTellMeYours/pseuds/ThisIsMyTruthTellMeYours
Summary: This is the story of Antonin Dolohov, and how Voldemort won his loyalty. Prologue is up: Alastor Moody, and some younger members of the order investigate a crime scene during the first war, and whatever has happened there has the mark of a certain Death Eater... Multi chapter on hiatus





	Ties of Blood and Water

**DISCLAIMER** : The ideas are mine, the characters, sadly are not.

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_" Say goodbye to everyone you have ever known, you are not gonna see them ever again_  
_I can't shake this feeling I've got. My dirty hands, have I been in the wars?"_

**_Editors, Smokers outside the hospital doors._ **

* * *

"Wait!"

Alastor Moody commanded, standing at the front door. There was an undeniable urgency in his voice. Sirius Black, distracted as usual by the possibility of adventure in the immediate future, was forced to stop so suddenly that he would have bumped into Moody had Remus Lupin not been there to grab his robes and pull him back.

Alastor was in a bad mood. Whenever the Dark Mark appeared in the sky the Aurors were required to investigate. It was a prolonged and boring task, which seldom resulted in fresh leads to track down the perpetrators, but somebody had to do it. There mere presence of the dark mark was in no way proof that whatever had happened was indeed the work of Death Eaters. During the past few months, copy cats had become increasingly more common.

Most of the time they were sympathysers who hoped to impress He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in order to become Death Eaters themselves.

There were also half-bloods and Muggle-borns who murdered Muggles, Muggle-borns and blood traitors in order to declare their loyalty to the Dark Lord, thus protecting themselves and their families. Or at least part of their families. They are scared, Dumbledore would say vaguely, but Alastor despised them. The way he saw it, everybody had a choice. Those crime scenes were always difficult to watch, and, as he looked over his shoulder to make sure Alice, Remus and Sirius were okay, Moody hoped the house they were about to enter wasn't one of those.

He realised they were trying, more than succeeding, to put on a serious face; trying to hide their excitement at being part of a mission. They were young; the war had not scarred them yet. But Moody had seen children murdered by their own parents, more often than he would have cared to. Squibs, most of the time. Elderly Muggles killed by their grandchildren who hoped to erase any connections they might have had with the non-magical community. Moody had even seen a three-year old who had been abandoned to starvation becauseone of his parents had been a Muggle and he had not shown any sign of magical ability yet. It took him several days to die.

There were other possibilities of course. They'd had one case in which a man who had lost his whole family to the Death Eaters started murdering people and casting the Dark Mark in the hope that, if the number of crimes escalated, the Ministry would finally have enough motivation to catch the perpetrators and do the dead justice. He had been driven mad. Far more common were those who killed Muggle-borns and blood traitors for sport. Casting the Dark Mark was an attempt to get away with it.

All of those imitators were infinitely easier to catch than any actual Death Eater.

It was clear then that somebody had to investigate the appearance of the Dark Mark, in order to ascertain whether it was indeed the work of Death Eaters. Someone had to identify the victims and contact the families. Alastor understood that. He just hated being the one who was assigned to – as they said in the Aurors' Office – 'take out the trash'.

After all, he was not a novice in the job. He had a better record than almost any Auror in activity, and his career was on the rise. During the course of the past seven years, Alastor alone had been responsible for filling up more than a quarter of the cells in Azkaban. He felt that he should be in battle, and his abilities would be best employed following fresh leads rather than analysing the wreckage. But he was not the one delegating tasks. He was not the head of the Office. His uncle was. And Alastair Moody felt that 'taking out the trash' from time to time would keep his nephew's ego in check.

The first thing to do was to make sure there were no more Death Eaters on the scene, and no traps set up for the investigators. Neither Sirius nor Remus had any idea how he was doing that, but after some time, Alastor lowered his wand.

"The place is clean," he said at last, and stepped into what was left of the living room.

Three of the younger members of the Order of the Phoenix followed him in. Alastor would probably get an official reprimand for taking untrained youngsters along on an official mission but he didn't care. He was the best Auror in the office, they would never suspend him, and the time when he did everything by the book had come and gone. As far as he was concerned, the Order of the Phoenix was doing far more to fight and win this war than the Ministry of Magic ever could, or cared to do. And if Dumbledore asked him to take the kids along, he would abide.

Dumbledore often asked him to take the younger members of the Order along, to watch and learn. They were kids to Moody's eyes, barely a few years out of school and not yet scarred by the on-going war, but he knew they had to grow up fast. If they were to survive - if they were to help others survive - they couldn't remain kids for much longer. So he didn't mind taking people like Alice Longbottom or Remus Lupin. Alice was training to become an Auror, anyway and Remus probably would be too if he'd been allowed. Alastor was, however, quite displeased at having to bring a hot-head like Sirius Black.

"Black, stay behind me," Moody ordered harshly, but Sirius had already wandered off and opened one of the doors to another room. Whatever he saw inside made him rush in, and the others followed.

Moody became angry.

"I told you, to stay,-" but before he could finished his sentence he was standing at the doorframe of the room the three kids had just entered, and what he saw left him thunderstruck.

If the living room had been destroyed, that was nothing compared to what had happened here. It was a much larger room, probably a dining-room given the long wooden table smashed into pieces in one corner. A large chandelier had fallen from the ceiling and the floor was covered in glass. Many of the portraits that hung on the walls had fallen as well, or rather been thrown by magic to the farthest corners of the room; whatever few paintings remained on the walls were hanging in tatters, covered in blood like the walls themselves. Several other objects had been smashed to pieces. A hole in the wall allowed Alastor to see into the other room, which was in the same state as the one he was currently standing in. There had been far more than two people involved in that duel.

There were two bodies on the floor, so mutilated they were barely recognisable; that was why Sirius had run inside. He was leaning over one of the bodies now, his hands pressing against the motionless chest in rhythmic movements, trying to restart his heart. Alice had joined him, taking a small flask from her pocket and dropping what Alastor recognised as a small amount of Dittany's Essence over the scars. That body had been severely burned, not to mention it was missing an arm and half a leg, the other leg bent in a painful angle. Remus knelt over the other body, also severely injured, pointing his wand at him and muttering an incantation that sounded almost like a song. He seemed insecure. He had never really done that before.

Alice pointed her wand at the victim, performing non verbal spells that seemed to produce no results at all until she finally took her fingers to the man's throat trying to feel his pulse. When she couldn't, the young woman lifted her head to look at Moody and shook her head no, confirming what he had already known.

"He's dead, Sirius," she said softly, touching her friend's hand. Sirius kept on with his compressions for about a minute longer, larger and larger intervals between each compression, before finally giving up and sitting back. He was panting and gasping as though he had just run twenty miles. His shoulders were crunched, his head was down. Alice's hand was till touching his.

Remus didn't seem to have registered any of that. His eyes were still closed; he was still focusing on that ancient and powerful incantation, trying to heal to motionless body by his side. Alastor walked across the room, stepping over some of the wreckage and knelt down beside him.

"Stop," he said, placing a firm hand on Remus' shoulder, "Remus, stop. He's gone."

Moody's hand was still squeezing Remus' shoulder when the young man finally stopped, lowered his wand, opened his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I think it's Fabian," he said simply, and his voice sounded sad and tired.

Only then did Alastor realise he was right. He studied the mutilated faces of the dead bodies and realized, with a painful heart, that the two victims were members of the Order of the Phoenix, barely a few years older than the three that he'd brought along. Fabian and Gideon Prewett. They were survived by a sister, Molly.

The Auror breathed heavily. He was truly furious now. They were young; they did not deserve to die. It was unfair. But Moody had seen enough death and suffering to realise life and death are hardly ever fair.

"Who would have done this?" Alice's voice broke the silence.

Alastor studied the bodies for a moment. He knew to answer to that question as soon as he recognised the patterns of the scars. And when he finally spoke his voice was hoarse with raw anger:

"Dolohov."

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_**AN:** Most Death Eaters are pure blood and thus very proud people. I can understand how people like Bellatrix Lestrange or Rudolphus decided to follow the dark lord in spite of their own pride. They were much younger, they had seen what he could do and they respected that power. They saw in him someone who could guide them... But the first Death Eaters were just as old as Voldemort. So, at least for one or two of them, it seemed to me there had to be some reason for their loyalty, some reason why they didn't mind calling a former colleague their Lord. I am going to write about how Voldemort won the loyalty of Dolohov. This is the prologue of a multi chapter about Dolohov, set both in Riddle's era and during the first war... More chapters soon, please review and follow._

_This story has been beta read by DolbyDigital. Thank you again for your help._


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